


Live for the Moment As Fast As You Can

by littlemel



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-09 07:54:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3242078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemel/pseuds/littlemel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank's been walking, talking, playing, on the move for what feels like days on end.  It feels good to stop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Live for the Moment As Fast As You Can

**Author's Note:**

> A little bit for [](http://harborshore.livejournal.com/profile)[**harborshore**](http://harborshore.livejournal.com/) , with love, and with thanks to [](http://absenceofmind.livejournal.com/profile)[**absenceofmind**](http://absenceofmind.livejournal.com/) for the kick in the ass all those months ago, and to [](http://nokomis305.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://nokomis305.livejournal.com/)**nokomis305** for the quickie read-throughs. Title from "Minutes in Night" by The Bronx. Originally posted May 17, 2009.

They're walking back to the van from a truck stop with the cleanest bathroom Frank's seen in four states when Gerard staggers and missteps and ends up on his back in the grass, wincing and cradling the back of his head. But he's laughing, loud and drunk and stupid. Frank plunks down next to him, squinting at Gerard's face through his own beer- and pot-haze and the giggles he can't swallow down.

"You okay?" Frank doesn't mean to laugh. Gerard could be like, seriously hurt, but people falling down is _funny_. And once Frank's pot-giggles get going, they're hard to stop. He hiccups over his next breath, clutching his stomach. "Gee?"

"Hey. Shh." Gerard tugs on Frank's sleeve. "Look..."

Frank glances up. The sky's clear, moonless, blue-black dotted with bright stars. He looks back at Gerard, who's staring wide-eyed at nothing. Frank tries to follow his gaze, to maybe pick out a constellation, but he doesn't see Orion's belt, and he never could tell the Big Dipper from the Little one anyway. "What'm I looking at? Or for?"

" _Shh_."

Gerard's fingers dig in, insistent, and Frank scoots down to lie back next to him. The grass is cool, tickling the back of his neck, and smells semi-freshly mowed. A firefly blinks across his vision.

Frank's been walking, talking, playing, on the move for what feels like days on end. Touring is a nonstop cycle, van to venue to whatever bar or party they're hitting afterwards; to someone's floor or a cheap motel if they're lucky, back to the van if they're not. They're not so lucky tonight. Too many miles between shows. Mostly Frank sleeps to the thrum of tires and the rise and fall of someone's shoulder under his cheek.

It feels good to stop, to be still and silent even if the earth's still spinning beneath him, rumbling with traffic. Shit, maybe he should be grateful that Gerard landed where he did. A couple more feet and he'd have ended up in the parking lot, probably in front of a car. That's a lot less funny. Frank shifts closer, presses his knee to Gerard's leg. Gerard smells like beer and pot and Marlboros, like old sweat and dirty clothes. Like the backseat of the van and the inside of everyone's duffel bags.

"The stars, man," Gerard slurs. "They're fucking... I don't..." Gerard's hand slips along Frank's arm, and Frank's fingers twitch, curling in against his palm. Gerard laughs again, quiet and raspy. "I don't know."

"Yeah." Frank folds an arm behind his head and nods, then closes his eyes when his vision goes swimmy. He's used to Gerard talking in half-sentences and non-words; he doesn't always have to know what Gerard's talking about to get what he means. A car zooms by, too close, its headlights blinding. Frank's heart skips. He grabs at Gerard's jeans, dirty-stiff in his fingers. "We should move. We're gonna end up as fucking roadkill."

"M'kay."

Frank leans up on his elbow, tucks his hair behind his ear. Gerard blinks up at him, his pupils blown, one corner of his mouth pulled up on a grin. He looks every bit as wasted as Frank knows he is, and Frank giggles again, patting the center of Gerard's chest.

"Come on. Everyone's waiting."

He goes to push up but Gerard pulls him down instead, and Frank sways into it, shifting his weight clumsily. Their noses bump, huffs of laughter smearing off into a sloppy kiss.

And for a few uneven breaths and slicks of tongue, Frank's not thinking how much he misses his bed or Sunday dinner at his grandma's, or how he hasn't showered in three days and that all his socks are dirty. For a minute it's just this, just him and Gerard, stoned and kissing lazily in the grass on an almost-summer night. Crickets chirping and the buzz of cicadas in the trees, under and between the growl of cars. They could be anywhere and Frank thinks it would still feel just like this, this easy and this good.

Gerard's fingers flex in Frank's hair, and this is so not the time, definitely not the place, but Frank's hand skids up Gerard's shirt anyway, rucking it up a little. Gerard squirms when Frank's fingers hit bare skin, his belly heaving up. They both groan, frustrated. There's always somewhere else to get to, is the thing. Another city, another show, and it's been too many nights of this lately, scraps of time and skin and fumbled groping through jeans.

Frank's only distantly aware of footsteps, the soft thump-thump of boots in the grass. It's hard to concentrate with as much alcohol and weed coursing through him as blood, with Gerard's tongue in his mouth and Gerard warm and pliant under him.

"Dudes," Mikey sighs. It's not the first time he's had to run interference. Poor guy's gotten an eyeful more than once.

Frank breaks the kiss on a laugh, yelping when Mikey pokes him in the ass with the toe of his boot. He swats at Mikey's foot, but Mikey's too quick, jerking out of reach with a cackle. Gerard lets go of Frank's hair to flip Mikey off.

"There are laws about that kind of shit, you know." Mikey kicks at Frank's sneaker. "Otter says you've got thirty seconds or he's leaving without you."

Frank holds out his hand. "Then help me up, fucknuts, or he's leaving without you, too."

Mikey tugs so hard Frank almost falls forward, but he rides out the tilt and manages to stay upright. Gerard's still sprawled in the grass, shaking with laughter. Frank braces a hand on his knee and leans down to get a good grip on Gerard's arm.

"Ready?" he asks, snickering when he catches Gerard's eye. Gerard nods, but he's dead weight for a couple heartbeats before he gets his footing. He drapes himself along Frank's back, his labored breathing ruffling the hair behind Frank's ear. Frank turns halfway, touches his temple to Gerard's. "You good?"

"Better sitting down," Gerard winces. He swallows loudly and gathers a handful of Frank's shirt in his fist. "But yeah."

"Then let's go."

Gerard's feet knock into Frank's as they walk, Mikey shuffling along beside them. He bends down to tug a dandelion puff from the weedy grass, spins it between his thumb and forefinger.

"You gonna make a wish, Mikeyway?" Gerard asks. His chin digs into Frank's shoulder when he talks. "Cause I will if you're not."

Mikey closes his eyes for a step, puffs out a breath and the sphere explodes, dozens of feathery little seedlings floating away on the breeze. "Get your own," he grins.

The van's already idling when they climb in, Ray still sprawled along the middle row of seats where they left him, snoring into the upholstery. Mikey wriggles his way under Ray's legs and fits his headphones over his ears. Frank and Gerard stumble for the back, over yellow Wendy's napkins and half-empty soda bottles with cigarette butts floating in them.

"Everyone in?" Otter says, catching Frank's eye in the rearview. Frank nods.

The van shudders into reverse, Frank tucking himself against the window as they inch out of the parking spot. Gerard settles next to him, practically in Frank's lap, his head in the crook of Frank's neck. It doesn't take much fidgeting to get comfortable; they know how they fit together by now.

Something tickles Frank's cheek and he jerks away, rubbing furiously at his face. A bit of dandelion fluff is nestled in Gerard's dirty hair, white against the dull black.

"Hey, no, come back here," Gerard mumbles. He palms Frank's knee, plucks at the loose denim of his jeans like a cat.

"Heh, hang on." Frank picks out the seedling carefully, holds it up as they pass under a streetlight. "This was in your hair. Wanna make a wish?"

"Finder's keepers." Gerard's voice is thick, slow. He yawns. "You can have it."

Frank wonders if it matters that he's piggybacking Mikeyway's wish, if a secondhand wish even has a shot. Couldn’t hurt either way, though, right? He turns a little towards the cracked-open window, takes a breath and holds it.

 _I wish_ , he thinks, and exhales slowly, lips pursed and his breath warm across the tips of his fingers. Hoping for just a few solid hours of sleep, a good show on the other end of the drive. For the chance to keep doing this, exhausting and chaotic and amazing as it is, night after night.


End file.
